


Sincerely Me

by secretcheesesticks



Category: MCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Past Character Death, Sad with a Happy Ending, parkner, parkner secret santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretcheesesticks/pseuds/secretcheesesticks
Summary: Peter Parker and Morgan Stark deal with the aftermath of Harley Keener's death a year later.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	Sincerely Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Via! This is my first fic I’ve done as a gift, so I hope you like it! My favorite thing to write is angst, so I’m super excited for this one.
> 
> A note for this: I created a playlist on Spotify for this fic, beginning with the song I based the whole thing off of - “Sincerely Me” by Artist Vs Poet. The link is here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2THm9EMxDzvMFBd1xMSZAP?si=d1Z7RRYgQZqd19GZeAaFcA

Rewind.

Play.

Rewind.

Play.

Peter rewound the tape again. Countless times today he had watched it. It was such a simple video, just clip of Harley quietly playing the guitar and singing, alone in his room. 

_“I didn't think these memories  
I'm writing down could put my mind at ease  
Oh, but I'll write until my fingers bleed  
And keep them safe so no one else can see”_

He watched through the whole thing with blurry eyes, then reached for the remote with the intent of watching it again. But he grasped air - the remote was gone. He rubbed his eyes and looked up to see Morgan, dressed in a black sweatshirt and grey sweatpants, holding the remote. Her eyes were just as red as Peter’s, but held a sort of resolution in them. 

“You can’t watch this anymore, Park. It’s been days. You need to eat, or sleep, or something.”

Peter got up, shakily, and reached out to grab the remote. She stuck it in her pocket and frowned at him. 

“Let's go get some breakfast.” 

She held out her hand, tiny in comparison to Peter’s. He unconsciously took it, but glanced out the window.

“Breakfast? Isn't it-” he found a clock on the wall. “... Seven?”

Morgan stared back at him, dark circles under her eyes obvious in the bright light. She tugged on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

“I’ve been there… all night?” Peter continued, his brain filled with fog.

“I’ll make pancakes.” 

Morgan smiled, though her eyes were shining with tears. He couldn't resist those shattered eyes, and trudged after her into the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
He did feel a little better after he ate. Morgan made him take a shower, too. He couldn't remember the last time he had done that. After the shower, he followed Morgan into Harley’s room - still as messy as he left it - and stared blankly as she tossed some empty cardboard boxes onto the carpet. He didn't know what she was doing until she started scooping up random possessions - some comics, a stray screwdriver, an old baseball hat - and tossing them into a box. 

“Woah, woah, wait, what are you doing?” Peter grabbed the edge of the box and slid it away from her. 

“I’m starting to pack up his stuff. We can organize it later, after we’ve had some… time.” She grabbed the box back.

“Why do we need to pack his stuff now? It’s not like he’s going-” he choked on his words, blinking back more tears he didn't know he had.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he continued: “He’s not going to need it. Can't we keep it for a while?” He stared into Morgan’s eyes. “Please, Diamond?”

The nickname was an appropriate one. Diamond, after all, is stronger than iron. There was no question about the strength of Morgan Stark.

“Park, listen. If I don't pack this stuff up, you’re never going to recover. You don't have to help, but I thought it might bring some closure.”

Peter looked like he’d been slapped in the face. They locked eyes, both hurt and angry. For several moments they stayed like that, neither willing to look away, to admit defeat. Ultimately, it was Peter who sighed and looked down at the box of memories. He knelt down and picked up a stray comic book, read the cover, and reluctantly put it in the box.

As Peter continued to pack, Morgan pulled out her phone and put on a playlist. It was one the three of them had made about a year ago, with all their favorite songs randomly dispersed throughout the playlist. Morgan’s pop and emotional songs, Harley’s rock, Peter’s alternative. It was a way to share a personal connection, one that could be shared privately or out loud, and one that meant a lot to all three of them.

...Now two of them.

Morgan put it on shuffle, purposefully avoiding the first song after seeing Peter’s reaction to the tape earlier. The shuffle decided on 100 Bad Days by AJR. They stared at each other after hearing the first few beats.

“The irony,” said Morgan.

They both burst into laughter. Humorless, emotional laughter - the kind that happens when you have no other way to express your emotions. Morgan reached out a hand to pull Peter up from the floor, then swung him into a hug once he was relatively stable on his feet. They stood there for a while, taking in the music and taking deep breaths to combat the rising tears that both felt. After a verse or so, they broke apart, set on finishing what they had started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They decided on donating most of his possessions. They gave his more useful stuff to a local Goodwill, and sold his more expensive stuff and divided up the money to a few charities that Harley was passionate about - the local humane shelter, a musician who offered free guitar lessons to kids who couldn’t afford them, and the city public library.

A few items were saved, however - some private Stark tech that couldn’t be given to the public, Harley’s favorite jacket (leather, of course), and his guitar. Peter would sometimes catch Morgan wearing the jacket around the house, and Morgan would sometimes catch Peter with the guitar, plucking out-of-tune notes. Neither said anything. 

After a while, Peter had become quite decent at the guitar. He used the majority of his summer vacation before college practicing. Just under a year since the funeral, he was finally ready. He carried a nearly empty box down from the attic, containing just one thing. He walked over to the old TV in the tech room - complete with ancient VCR player - put the tape in, and hit play.

The familiar blonde-haired boy appeared on the grainy screen, ocean blue eyes sparkling as he grinned and pulled his guitar onto screen. A tiny Morgan appeared in the background.

_“What are you doing, Hawey?”_

He waved his hand at her, shooing her away. _“I’m recording something! Shhh.”_

She tiptoed away, closing the door gently behind her.

Harley’s gaze returned to the camera.

_“So, this is a recording of me playing and singing a song. I know it’s one of someone’s favorite songs, so I thought I’d record it for him. Also, maybe you can play this before one of my concerts when I inevitably become a modern rock star that single-handedly saves the 2010’s from musical demise.”_

He strummed a quick chord and adjusted the tune slightly.

_“Anyways, talking is a waste of tape, and not the point of this. So, let’s begin.”_

In the present, Peter swung his guitar up in perfect sync with the Harley of two years ago. And they played. Harley had managed to master the song so much that he could stare at the camera the whole time, but Peter had to keep looking down to check and make sure his hands were placed correctly, that he was playing the right chords, that he wasn’t about to mess it all up and break the spell the two of them had created, the spell that spanned two years. 

When Peter did look up, though, he was able to lock eyes with the boy he loved most, sharing something far more powerful than purely words. The lyrics meant far more than their original purpose - they contained emotions that were never well-expressed during the time they had together. Joy, regret, sadness, anger, and love spun from the notes, dancing across strings, spiraling from hoarse vocal chords, and flowing from speakers.

Eventually the song came to an end, as all things must. Peter gulped in air, breathing for what felt like the first time in years, wiping away tears he didn’t know were falling. But the recording wasn’t over yet.

Harley had set down his guitar, looking abnormally awkward. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting around from the camera, to the floor, to his feet, and back again.

_“Park, I… you know this is for you. I wanted to say…”_

Current Peter held his breath, though he knew how this ended, he knew how he wishes it would end.

_“Well, I think you know how I feel. At least I hope you do. I… Park, I-”_

A knock on the door blasted the speakers, followed by little Morgan’s squeaky voice.

_“Hawey, Pawk says you stole his hoodie and he told me to get it but I didn’t want to intewupt, am I intewupting?”_

Harley sighed. _“I suppose that’s it then. You should know by now. I hope.”_

The camera went sideways as his hand reached out to press the record button. The screen flashed to blue. Peter slumped, hugging his knees, head down. He wasn’t sure what he thought was going to happen, but whatever it was, it hadn’t happened. The moment was gone. Now he had to figure out how to move on.

Sniffling, he reached out to hit the eject button. He yanked the tape out of the player, not even caring if either were damaged. Tossing the tape into the empty box, he headed for the door, pulling his hood over his head in the hopes of shadowing his red eyes.

A noise from behind stopped him in his tracks. A shuffle, that was all. Until it wasn’t.

A G chord, then a C. Enough to make Peter slowly turn, hood slipping from his head to clear his vision. There was no mistaking it. Though he was overall older, with longer hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a more defined jawline, there was no mistaking those young eyes that shone with mischief. Peter’s jaw dropped, and he grinned in response.

“I was wondering when you were going to play it! I don’t think I could have stayed in hiding much longer.”

Peter just blinked for a moment, before stuttering out, “but, you… you, you-”

“Yeah, I know. I ‘died’. And I stayed like that, in the eyes of the world, for a while, I’m sorry. I needed to stay under the radar for a bit.” Harley gently set the guitar down on a nearby table.

“I- I was at your funeral! Wh- what was… why would you-”

“What, you think Tony was the only Stark to fake his own death? Look, after the battle, I was just as banged-up as I looked. When Banner pulled me away from the throes of battle, he advised me to get out of there. Me at my weakest would only hold everyone back, but me completely gone? That would give Tony a reason to keep going, he told me. So he sent me off with the addresses of a few safe houses, where I could stay under the radar. When he was gone, I lost my contact with you, and only relied on the tracker I put on that tape.” 

Peter’s eyes followed Harley’s extended index finger in the direction of the banged-up tape sitting in the box. “Tracker?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah. It let me know when you played it. Of course, I disregarded the first fifty or so times right after the funeral, for… obvious reasons. Mourning and all that. But when I got this alert from this one, especially since I happened to be nearby? I had to come back. So here I am, in the flesh!” 

He spread his arms wide, maybe for a hug? But instead was met with a quick punch to the stomach. He doubled over in response, coughing.

“Okay, okay, I deserved that,” he stood up straight, his arms still crossed over his stomach. “But now can we-”

To which he was met with a stinging slap to the face. 

“You left me alone! For two years!” Peter yelled.

“Well, you had Morgan…” Harley held a hand up to his red cheek.

“And I love her! Of course, she’s basically my sister! But that’s not the same, and you know it!” 

Peter balled his fists at his sides, and Harley winced away, closing his eyes and bracing himself for another hit. But he opened his eyes wide when he was instead met with Peter’s mouth on his, Peter’s hands, wet with wiped tears, on his burning cheeks.

When he broke away, the two of them just stared at each other, hands held and breaths in sync.

Harley was suddenly rendered more speechless than he had ever been. Not to say he couldn’t speak, just he couldn’t make clear sentences. His mind was so foggy, trying to make sense of the world beyond this moment, Peter’s hand, his kiss. 

“So… I guess you got the message. Of the tape. And the song. The-”

Peter reached up and covered Harley’s mouth.

“I got it.”

They smiled.

“So, ready to go come up with a death cover-up story?” Harley asked, hooking Peter’s arm with his.

“Sounds good to me.” Peter grinned.

They turned back to the doorway, where a leather-jacket-wearing Morgan stood, jaw dropped.

“What the fu-”

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Yeah, it was a cop-out ending. But I just wanted them to be happy, dammit, and I’m not creative enough to think of anything better. I hope you liked it! If you did, feel free to send me any prompts you want to see written in the future - I always need more writing practice!
> 
> ~Calvin  
> Insta: @secret.ignis


End file.
